Finding Comfort
by bHaribo
Summary: Set right after Brisingr. Both Arya and Eragon are mourning Oromis and Glaedr's death. They turn to each other for comfort and feelings start to show, albeit in a emotional, grief-driven way.
1. Chapter 1

I don't really know why this happened... I know it's rather out of character for Arya, maybe even both of them, but this sort of wrote itself right after I finished reading the entire series again plus a load of other fanfics. I came up with the idea of the Elves singing to guide their dead because of the way they sing to the trees and nature and generally everything. And I know they don't have a religion, but if you say 'passed into the void' then I guess you would have to _find _the void to pass into it :)

**Anyhoo, please review to tell me what you think! I'm quite unsure about this, it's the first fic I've written in a while so, be nice? If you see anything wrong with it that you don't like etc _please_ tell me. I crave comments, and I love criticsm (constructive!) :P**

**Enough rambling... it starts literally the page after the last page of Brisingr and that's about all you need to know :)**

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The sun was hanging low over the horizon by the time he left Nasuada's tent. Saphira padded along softly behind him, lost in her thoughts. Her sorrow at Oromis and Glaedr's deaths washed over him suddenly, and he winced as she uttered a long, sad keen and her thoughts and memories of their last moments washed over him.

_Gone! Gone! We are alone, Eragon! They're GONE!_

_Saphira get a hold of yourself! _He cried as he was forced through her to relive Glaedr's memories again and again. He felt her despair crush down on him, with such force that it felt as if he were suffocating and with all his strength he threw up his mental barriers and shoved her from his mind.

She looked at him with one huge, tormented blue orb and then blinked slowly, her eyelid snapping shut with a soft _snikt_, nodded, as if to say, 'As you wish,' and with a push from her powerful hind legs, leapt into the air and flew off into the darkening sky.

He wandered after that, both in mind and body, flitting through tents and people, drawing ever further from the Varden's camp and the accompanying clamor without really meaning to. He wasn't really thinking about his teachers, but unbidden memories of the time spent with them would appear in his mind's eye and he would watch and remember.

He was still numb. He hadn't really absorbed the fact that they had honestly passed into the void. He hadn't been there, hadn't seen it, as he had with the deaths of Brom and Garrow, and so he couldn't find it in himself to accept the fact that he would never see Oromis or Glaedr again.

His wanderings brought him to a small hill just outside the walls of the camp. He had been there many times with Saphira, it was their favourite place to watch the sunset, and the sunset now was an unusually beautiful one.

To his surprise, there was another, lone figure standing on the hill. Although its back was to him, he instinctively knew it was Arya, and advanced slowly, for fear of upsetting her. Silhouetted against the pinky sky with her hair whipping around her slim figure, he thought he had never seen anything more beautiful. Her arms were wrapped around her, and her chin was lifted high as she stared into the sun. Her shoulders trembled as she took in a breath, and as Eragon drew up beside her, he saw her cheeks dripped with tears.

He refrained from reaching out to her, for he knew she would probably just recoil from his touch, so he stood there beside her, his arms folded like hers and stared at the sun. He felt the wind tug at his clothes, felt it whisper in his ear and he felt strangely at peace, however sad and lonely that peace was.

The colours and the wind reminded him of the sunsets he had spent with Oromis on the Crags of Tel'naeír and suddenly the memories came flooding back to him, each one hitting him so hard he started to feel weak. He felt he was there, at Oromis's house, and the fact that he and Glaedr weren't there with him drove home the knowledge that he would never see them again.

An uncontrollable sob escaped from his throat before he clenched his jaw, telling himself fiercely that he was _not_ going to cry. His eyes felt wet, and his chin trembled as he stared into the horizon. He breathed deeply, working on calming himself down. He let his mind wash over the land, let himself join with a deer, and relished in its basic, instinctual thoughts and feelings, using it as an escape from the complexity and the weight of his human ones.

Arya's voice brought him back to his body with a jolt. It took him a while to realize where he was, and after shaking his head violently to clear the buzzing in his ears, he finally managed to comprehend what she was saying.

"…. suspected for a while now that Oromis intended to leave Ellesméra. I never thought that if he did, he would be pitted against Murtagh and Thorn immediately. And now…" She trailed off, and Eragon heard the tremor in her voice as she ended her sentence. He glanced at her and saw her trembling even harder.

He reached out hesitantly and took her hand gently, unsure whether or not she would reject him. He saw her glance down at their intertwined hands, and for a moment he was sure she would pull away. Then, she sighed and squeezed his hand softly, sinking down onto the grass and pulling him with her.

She had drawn her knees up to her chest, her free hand circling them and hugging them closer to her. Her chin rested on her knees, letting her hair fall in a veil around her face. His hand rested over hers on the grass and his thumb was drawing small circles over the back of her palm.

They sat there for a while, content with each other and their thoughts for company. The wind subsided to a soft breeze and he heard Arya sniff softly.

"When my father died, my mother was so caught up in her grief and the troubles of being a monarch that she barely had time for me." Eragon turned his head slightly so that he could look at her as she talked.

"I was just ten years old, young by even your standards, and I suffered without my parents. Oromis took me in, taught me what I know.

"He was my role model, my teacher. He taught me how to fight, and was the one who cared for me when I had hurt myself sparring with the others. He was the one who found me my sword. My mother was there, albeit sporadically, but Oromis was the constant in my youth.

"I have not a memory of my childhood where he is not there, always kind, always ready to help and give comfort. He would take me out on Glaedr when I was younger. We would fly for hours without speaking, just reveling in the fact that we were together."

Arya paused and wiped her streaming eyes with the back of her free hand. She gave a long shuddering sigh and closed her eyes, "Losing him; it's like losing my father all over again." Her voice broke on the last word, and her head sank down between her knees, her body shaking as she sobbed.

She pulled her hand away from him to hug herself. It was as if she was trying to hold herself together, as if she would fall apart at any moment. Eragon had never seen her so vulnerable, this Arya was so different from the reserved, composed Arya he was used to. She seemed almost human, he could relate to her pain.

He reached out and gently put a hand on her back, rubbing it gently. He could feel her trembling, and could feel each shuddering breath that she took. She relaxed under his touch and before he knew it, she had shuffled up next to him, fitting herself under the crook of his arm. He snaked his arm around her shoulders, holding her tightly and she rested her head against his shoulder.

Her eyes were still closed, and little drops of water clung to her long eyelashes. He looked down at her and then back at the sun as tears started to prick his eyes.

"I think," he said, and then paused, biting his lip while he chose what to say, "I think Oromis-elda knew that he would fight Murtagh. When we left Ellesméra, he had the same _aura_, I think, that Brom did before we rode into Dras-Leona. He knew he was going to die, Arya, and he had accepted that."

She moaned and buried her face in his shoulder, her tears soaking through the fabric. He rubbed her back slowly, and continued, "He loved you. Loved you as a daughter. That much I know. He told me to tell you that he was so proud of you, and of what you've become and what you've achieved.

"He's not truly gone. After Garrow died, I thought that I would never really be happy again, but they're always with you, in your thoughts, in your memories." He paused and looked down at her. She had resumed staring at the sunset, which was now sinking below the horizon. Her face was wet, diamond tears hung off her cheeks and she clung to herself as if she would never let go.

"You're not alone Arya. You'll never be alone." _I'll always be here for you_ he added to himself. He tilted his head so it rested on hers, drawing her closer to him. She didn't resist, instead leaning into him as if he would provide her with strength.

They sat in silence, watching the sun sink ever lower. Somewhere, they heard a long, mournful keen and Saphira appeared from behind a cloud, circling higher and higher until she was no more than a speck in the sky.

"What do elves do when another has passed? Do you have rituals for the dead?" He inquired. She shifted slightly, turning her head towards him.

"We mourn alone, we prefer to reflect on whoever has passed in solitude. Our dead are always laid to rest at sun down. Glaedr and Oromis are being lowered into the earth now." Her lips brushed against his neck as she gave her murmured answer. It took all his will power not to shudder at the touch.

They remained silent until the sun was just about to sink below the line of trees on the horizon when Arya said, "Thank you, Eragon."

He looked down at her inquiringly. She lifted her head to meet his eyes and gave him a small, watery smile.

"Thank you for coming here and comforting me. I needed someone to hold me. It's been a long time since I've been in someone's arms… and my reunion with my mother doesn't count."

"You're welcome." He murmured, pulling her closer to him. She moved so that she sat between his legs, her head tucked under his chin, resting on his chest. She pulled his arms around her, circling both of them and before he knew what he was doing, he had brought his lips down to her hair, kissing it softly. He stiffened, expecting the reprimand that never came. He saw the corner of lips twitch upwards as she turned slowly to look up at him.

She had freckles, he noticed. Small, pale dots that covered her sculpted nose. He could count every one, and he could count every drop that still clung to her long, thick lashes. He leaned forward, cupping the back of her head in his hands and placed a soft kiss on her brow.

He leaned back to look at her, her eyebrows were raised, and her eyes, which had been closed, opened slowly to look up into his face. They were sad, so sad, and slightly confused. She blinked and looked away, shaking her head slightly. For a second he was afraid that she would leave, but then she leaned back into his chest.

The wind picked up, whipping her hair around them. Behind them, a dog howled and then, the sun sank below the horizon and everything went quiet.

Almost immediately, a voice from within the Varden drifted out them, it was unnaturally beautiful, a haunting, ethereal melody that tugged at Eragon's heart. Another voice joined the first, and he suddenly realized that they were singing in the Ancient Language.

"We sing to the departed," Arya's voice floated up to him, "We sing to guide them back to the land of the dead."

More voices had joined in, weaving in and out of the original melody. Then Arya sang, her clear, bell-like voice washing over him. The tears he had struggled to withhold broke free as the song continued. As he looked around him, it seemed the whole world was mourning, the grass swayed and doubled over in its sorrow, the wind rushed and whispered, tugging at people's clothes, their hair, in an effort to find comfort in the material things it could not have.

The world was weeping, he thought, weeping for two of the greatest beings that had ever lived, and barely anyone knew they were gone, barely anyone knew that they had even been alive. He wept for his teachers, wept for Garrow and Brom, for his mother, for the innocents that had had to suffer under Galbatorix's cruel reign. He wept until he could weep no more, and then he sat, holding Arya as she cried and sang.

They stayed like that until the moon was high above their heads and the Varden's camp had gone silent. The elves' song started to waver and fade as one by one the individuals stopped singing. Finally, only the first singer was left, her voice floating over to them, as haunting and beautiful as it was when they had first begun. A gust of wind suddenly blew towards them, flattening the grass and racing towards the Varden.

It tore the last, lingering note away from their ears as it howled and rushed by. When the wind had subsided, Arya slumped against him, shaking violently. He held her tightly, rocking back and forth as he tried to comfort her.

"It's alright, shh, you're alright." He murmured things into her hair, kissing it softly between sentences. Slowly, ever so slowly, she fell silent. The harsh, wracking sobs subsided into small sniffs, the flood of tears which had drenched his shirt ceased to flow. He held her until she was almost asleep, exhausted from her crying and the day's events.

He shook her gently as he lifted her off the ground.

"Come, Arya, I'll walk you back." She nodded in response, and, to his surprise, put out a hand to keep his arm around her waist. He tightened his grip around her and they slowly made their way back towards the Varden's camp.

A guard shouted down to them as they neared the gates, "Who goes there?"

"It is I Eragon Shadeslayer and Arya Drottningu! May we come in?" he yelled back. He heard muttering above him, and then with a loud creak the gates swung open.

"May good fortune follow you, Argetlam!" the guard shouted after Eragon had thanked him. He smiled into the darkness and led Arya away.

As they wove through the tents, she pressed closer and closer to him, and Eragon started to get increasingly paranoid that someone would come out and see them together, which would surely spark some healthy gossip. However, he relished the fact that she was so close, enjoying the feel of her body next to his and the aroma of crushed pine that clung to her hair.

They slowed as they neared her tent, walking almost reluctantly forward. He was loath to let her go after holding her for so long, he was well aware that he would probably never be near her like that again.

All too soon, they found themselves in the doorway of the tent. Eragon let her go and help the flaps of the tent open for her. She looked up at him with an incredibly tender expression on her face, her big green eyes filled with gratitude.

"Thank you." She said, "Thank you for listening." He nodded, a soft smile playing on his lips.

"Anytime, Shadeslayer." The corner of her mouth twitched upwards in a crooked smile, then, before he knew what was happening, she had closed the miniscule distance between them and had placed her mouth over his in a soft, warm kiss.

For a fraction of a second, he felt like fainting in shock, then, he responded eagerly, pushing her back into the tent. Their tongues danced, her hands were threaded in his hair, his cupped the base of her head, the other wrapped around her waist.

They broke apart when her back came into contact with the wall of the tent, both of them panting, their foreheads resting against each other.

"I think," he said, his hands were still on her waist, his eyes squeezed shut, "I think, I should go now, before we do something we'll both regret."

He started to pull away when her hands reached up and pulled his head down to hers. Their lips touched in a chaste kiss and they parted, looking into each other's eyes.

"Don't go. I… I can't be alone… I need to forget, Eragon." She stared up at him, pleading with her eyes. Her hands clung to his shirt, keeping him with her. She saw him hesitate and her eyes widened, "No, Eragon, please. I'll _die_ if I linger on it, I need you."

He started to interrupt her, but she cut across him quickly, "Please, stay with me. I don't care about what everyone else thinks. Eragon, I need you now. Just stay, you don't have to do anything else. Just… be here. Please."

She looked so sad, so lost, that he couldn't physically find it in himself to leave her there. He nodded slowly and pulled her into his arms. She buried her face into his neck and he kissed her hair. He felt his shirt start to grow wet again as she started to sob softly. He lifted her chin up and kissed her gently, savouring the feeling of her lips against his.

He drew back gently, resting his forehead against hers, "It's late. We should go to bed or we'll be near death tomorrow."

She nodded and moved to sit on her bed, looking expectantly up at him as she did so. To his horror, he felt himself blushing. He had no idea what he was supposed to do; this Arya didn't seem to have _any _boundaries, which, actually, he quite liked, but he was worried about what other people, _especially_ Nasuada,Orik, Islanzadí, and the rest of the elves would say if they found out that their Rider and Elven Ambassador were sharing a bed.

"Come, Eragon. I don't care what other people," and he had a strange suspicion that she meant her mother, "think. You said you'd stay, and I _know_ you're just as tired as me."

Again, he felt himself melt under her emerald stare (not that he was really _trying_ to resist), so, he pulled off his boots, stripped his tunic and shirt off and almost sauntered over to the elf who was currently ogling him shamelessly.

He leaned back against the pillows, holding his arms out to Arya who was still sitting on the edge of the bed, looking at him with a curious expression in her eyes.

"I've got to change," she whispered softly, one of her hands reaching out to trace along the panes of his stomach, "you can't expect me to come to bed in the same clothes I went into battle with." She placed a soft kiss on his lips and then glided behind a screen in the far corner of the tent.

She came back a few minutes later in a thin cotton gown that fell to just a hand's height above her knee. He devoured her with his eyes as she walked towards him, holding his arms out again, beckoning her into them. He would have loved to explore what lay under that gown in much greater detail, but tonight was not the night he told himself.

She lay back against his chest and he folded his arms around her. The last thing he remembered before he went to sleep was the sound of her soft breathing, the feel of her warm body lying against his and the crushed-pine aroma that surrounded them.

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**Sooo.. there it is. I know it's rough and rather unfinished and I don't agree much with the ending, but I think it turned out ok. Please R&R!**

**BErin**


	2. Chapter 2

**Heyyy :) I finally got this written :) thank you all SOO much for all the AMAZING reviews! I LOVED them. I know that not everyone liked the ending to the last chapter, with Arya being all OC and acting funny, and, to be honest, I didn't like it much either... But, it fits with this chapter, and so I guess that makes it ok I hope? **

**I gave a name to the song that the elves sing - _Lüinneag fon Bhòrd_ which literally means Song of the Dead. I got it from welsh, and mixed the words up a tiny bit :) Well, its finally up, and I hope you guys like it. I really don't know where this story is going, I normally have a really hard time keeping it interesting and fresh, as I tend to lose the plot after a couple of chapters. Anyway, your reviews made me continue, I honestly thought it was going to be a One-shot, so thank you all for that. **

**Hope you like it :) **

**xxx **

**BErin**

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The early morning Sun streamed in through the gap in the tent doors, bouncing off the mirrors and tables that furnished the place and finally to gently caress the curves of the two sleeping figures that lay on the bed.

Hair that was blacker than the night absorbed the rays that gleamed over it. A strong, corded arm hung protectively around a slender waist, while the gentle curve of a woman's hips blossomed out from under it.

The Sun smiled at the beauty of the scene, smiled at the love that the two people so obviously shared. They would wake, she thought, and they would be happy in each other's arms. They would kiss and they would whisper tender nonsense into each other's ears, loving each other, caressing each other as they did.

Sometimes, the Sun envied the Moon, she got to see the couples when they fell together, when they would court and laugh and would eventually come to lie in the same bed; but the Sun got to see the magic in the morning, she got to see the look of wonder and adoration on their faces as they woke up and stared into the faces of their sleeping lovers, and she smiled, for when she did it would remind her of the days spent when she was first born, with her lover and their stars.

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Arya woke with a start as a horse clip-clopped loudly past her tent. As she blinked, she focused on a pair of soft, pink lips that were parted slightly as their owner sighed in his sleep. And arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer to a warm, muscular chest and she stiffened, feeling her cheeks heat up as blood rushed into them.

_Oh dear. What have I done now?_ She wondered, feeling her blush spread as she moved her arms up to push herself away from Eragon's warm and slightly too inviting body.

She padded softly to the screen and dressed behind it, silently contemplating what had happened the night before.

Oromis and Glaedr's deaths still hung heavily over her, but the Lüinneag fon Bhòrd had helped calm her, as it had the night of her father's death.

She thought of Eragon, how, _adult_, he had seemed the night before. She thought of how safe she felt with him, and how somehow, when he held her all her troubles seemed to lift off her shoulders and she felt she could breathe again.

_He's just a child!_ She told herself as she pulled her shirt on, _He's not yet even twenty!_ Yet, something in the back of her mind poked her and niggled at her, telling her she was wrong.

No child had gone through and survived what Eragon had. No child could inspire such confidence or hope in people, or could fight and learn and love as much as Eragon could. No child could have held her that way, could have made her feel so loved and safe and warm and… _NO!_ She shook herself, _no._

She tiptoed silently out and across the room to the table where her sword was lying on. She buckled it to her belt and reached under it to pull out her boots. She sat down to lace them up, and let her gaze come to rest on the Rider sleeping in her bed.

The covers were bunched around his waist; the tops of his breeches were showing. She let her eyes linger over the flat panes of his stomach, making no attempt to hide the smile that came to her face as she realised that she had spent the entire night cuddled up against him.

His expression was one of beautiful peace, all his cares seemed to have gone out the window and he seemed to have no worries, the normal lines that would have creased his soft brow were gone.

His hair was in complete disarray, locks of it were sticking up in every direction, falling into his face. Arya smiled, and unconsciously reached out to stroke his cheek. He shifted slightly in his sleep and sighed, and she snatched her hand away.

She turned her back to him, swearing softly under her breath and laced up her boots as fast as she could. She left the tent seconds later and walked out into the morning, fixing her usual unintelligible expression on her face.

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_Eragon!_ He groaned and pulled the blanket over his head, trying to muffle the sound of the voice.

_ERAGON!_

_Go away. I'm sleeping_. He complained, trying his best to hide from the unwelcome noise.

_Eragon. Nasuada wants you in her tent. She's sent a messenger to look for you. When he finds you're not where you're _supposed_ to be, everyone is going to 'lose it' as you'd say, and then they will eventually find you here, in Arya's tent and you will both be subject to questions as to why you were sleeping, half naked, in her bed. _

He bolted upright as he was reminded where he was, looking straight at the tent flaps as if the entire community of the Varden would come barging in at any moment.

_Saphira?_

_No you dolt, it's Snowfire. Hurry up, get dressed and then come to me. I've told Arya to tell them you were with me. _

_Oh. How is she?_

_You'll find out soon enough, just hurry up please. I miss you. _His expression of amusement disappeared at that, as he felt her feelings of loss and sadness seep through their mental link, although he could tell she was keeping them on a tight rein.

_I'll be there._

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He caught sight of her moments later, feeling his heart leap as she turned her head towards him and fixed him with her steady, blue stare.

_Saphira! _He cried happily, running up to her and leaping into the hollow in her back. The minute he was balanced enough, she leapt into the air, flying straight up for a bit and then leveling out to glide high over the Varden's camp.

_Little One._ She said affectionately, _I missed you_.

He felt his guilt surge, he had spent all last night with Arya, and he knew how Glaedr and Oromis's deaths had affected his dragon.

_I'm sorry, Saphira. I didn't mean to sound so harsh._ Compassion for him flowed through their link, and she turned her head to fix him with one tender blue orb.

_It is alright, Little One. I know you were saddened by our Masters' deaths too, and I know that I was not helping you stay calm. _She turned her head back, the steady woosh woosh of her wings filling his ears.

_The elves song helped me. _She said, and her voice was very quiet.

He patted the bit of shoulder he could reach, _I think it helped everyone. I don't think I ever heard anything more beautiful_.

_Aye. Glaedr used to tell me how the elves' lament was laced with magic that would sing the 'sadness' out of everything. It helps them carry on with life the next day, but, Eragon, it felt like the whole world was weeping. _

_I could feel the very trees cry for them, and when I was up there, I'd never felt as sad or lost as I did while they sang. It was as if every worry or unhappiness was leaking out of me, as if the song was carrying it away, and when it was over, I felt nothing but calm. _

_It's strange, Eragon, the way magic affects you like that. It helped me, the song, but if magic can leech your very _emotions_ out of you like that…_ She trailed off, and a small shudder, he was not sure whether from excitement or disgust, ran through her body. He knew what she was thinking, that if magic could affect you like that, could slowly 'free' you of all your emotions, it could be used in a way that would stop someone from feeling _anything_ at all. They could immobilize an entire army with a spell.

He would have to look into it.

They flew in silence, enjoying each other's company. A bird appeared out of the blue ahead of them, and Saphira snapped at it lazily, causing it to let out a terrified squawk.

He was thinking about the night before, about Arya. She had been… strange. He was confused; she had been the one who had initiated the entire night, no matter how willing and eager to stay with her he had been._ She_ had kissed _him,_ and when she did, he had never felt happier. Falling asleep with her in his arms, fitting perfectly against his body was heaven to him, and he'd never wanted to let her go.

But last night she hadn't been herself. He had no doubt that she would remember the time they'd spent together, but how would she act when they next saw each other which was bound to be in a few minutes? He couldn't bear the thought of losing her, not after she'd shown him that she did, at some level, have feelings for him.

It was through this train of thought that the voice of the subject of his ponderings came to him.

_Eragon, Saphira, Nasuada wants you in her tent in ten minutes. She says it's urgent and highly confidential, so try to be discreet._

He started, his heart jumping into his mouth at her voice. Her mind was guarded, the slippery walls that surrounded it were stronger than ever, and when he tried to speak to her, he realised she had shut him out.

He blinked when this hit him, stung. He wondered what had gotten into her now. He shook himself, he would talk to her later, and he would see her at the meeting.

He held on as Saphira dropped into a steep dive, feeling the familiar exhilaration as the air rushed past them at a blinding speed, stinging his cheeks and pulling at his hair and clothes. He whooped in delight, and she crowed as she let her wings snap out and they leveled out mere centimeters from the ground.

He hopped off of her and jogged over to the mound of red fabric that rose from the ground, the flag that was raised from its peak flying proudly in the wind. He grinned up at it and walked in through the flaps in the front, Saphira's head snaking in after him.

* * *

Nasuada was seated in her chair, Jörmundur looming protectively over her right shoulder. Eragon bowed to her and received a small smile and a gesture to sit in one of the chairs that lined the perimeter of the room.

As he turned, Orik caught his eye and waved him over to a seat in the corner next to him. He grinned and strolled towards the newly appointed dwarf-king,

"I thought you were still in Tronjheim!" he exclaimed as he flung himself down next to his friend, clapping him on his shoulder as he did so.

"Aye, but I couldn't bear to sit and watch while all of you were losing your lives to the thrice cursed King. I left Hvedra in charge, as well as a few trusted elders, and followed you here. We arrived this morning."

Orik pulled him into a conversation about nothing in particular, and as he talked, Eragon looked up to look around at the others in the room. Nasuada was looking more and more irritable as time passed, Jörmundur kept fidgeting and looking towards the door. Saphira had her eyes closed, seemingly asleep and the elf that had called him there was nowhere to be seen.

She loped in seconds later, her long hair cascading down her back, swaying and glinting in the sunlight that streamed in behind her. She apologised for her lateness, then turned and settled herself in a chair that was directly opposite from Nasuada.

Eragon straightened, craning his neck to try and catch her attention. He could see her face perfectly, and the impassive, unfeeling mask was plastered firmly on. His heart sank, but he continued to stare at her, silently willing her to look his way.

He was vaguely aware of the fact that Orik had fallen silent, and was looking between him and Arya in confusion. Saphira too had opened an eye to silently scrutinize him.

It wasn't until he prodded her mental shields hard that she turned around to look at him. Their eyes met for just a fraction of a second, and the word '_Don't_' echoed in his mind before she turned back around again.

He felt his eyebrows draw together as he stared at the side of her face. A faint blush had crept up her cheeks, but other than that, she was even more detached than she had been before. The coldness in her voice had stunned him, and he found himself doubting whether or not last night had actually happened, or if he'd dreamt the whole thing.

Nasuada's voice cut through his reverie, "Alright. It appears that _some_ people won't be appearing," irritation seeping into her voice.

"I've called you all here because, after what you, Eragon, told me yesterday, it is obvious, I think, that the only way we'll even have a minute chance of defeating Galbatorix is if we separate him from his Eldunarí.

"I've already filled Orik and Jörmundur in, and I've asked Jeod to see if he can find any weaknesses in the castle at Urû'baen; he'll be here soon.

"I suppose you know that I've called you here to ask if you have _any _ideas of how we could possibly get in, and more importantly, out, with the Eldunarí; and maybe the dragon egg as well. The Eldunarí are our primary objective though, and Galbatorix will have put them under the protection of a multitude of wards and spells, more so even than the egg, since they are the source of his power.

"We need to get them away from him." She looked around the room, her eyes meeting theirs. Beside him, Orik was nodding in agreement.

"Well," Nasuada said after a few moments of silence, "Ideas, that's what we're here for!"

Ideas flew. Mostly, they came from Orik and Eragon, each one more elaborate and complex than the last. Every one was dismissed as 'impossible' by Arya or Saphira. Nasuada and Jörmundur stood between them, nodding, their faces lighting up occasionally when a particular 'plan' came up, only to fall again as Saphira and Arya dissected it and finally declared it unmanageable.

"What if," said Orik after about twenty minutes of exchanging ideas, "What if we were to simply fly over Urû'baen and bomb the place? If we aimed for where we thought or knew the Eldunarí were, then we could probably release them, destroy the wards or spells and swoop down and pick them all up."

They all looked at him. One of Arya's delicately sculpted eyebrows was raised. Saphira snorted.

_Next?_

Jeod slipped in some time later, providing a welcome relief from the endless supply of ridiculous ideas that seemed to have been tumbling forward as if from a waterfall.

He had dug out his old maps of Urû'baen, and after assuring them that whatever they were planning on doing was planning their own deaths, started to show them the entrances and exits into the city.

There were more 'secret' entrances than Eragon could have dared to dream about. Used for centuries by smugglers and that sort, there was one, Jeod said, that he thought led right under the castle. He wasn't sure whether it could still be used, or if it was still 'secret' enough for them, and he had to have more time to see. They assured him that they weren't going anywhere very fast, and that he would have as long as he needed.

_Eragon?_ Saphira's voice echoed inside his head, _what about Master Glaedr's Eldunarí?_ He could feel the suppressed excitement emanating from her, and that fuelled his own. If anyone knew how to break Galbatorix's hold on the Eldunarí it would be Glaedr.

However, the dragon was almost definitely still in shock from what had happened the day before. The pulse and glow of the golden Eldunarí was still subdued, as if someone had placed a translucent covering over it that dulled and distorted everything.

_Not now Saphira, I think it would be better if we asked another day._ He met her eye across the room and saw her blink in agreement. Around them, their companions had resumed coming up with various plans.

He studied each of their faces as they talked; Orik's was eager, thoughtful. He loved a challenge and as he wracked his brain for possible ways, his face would contort and he would bite his bottom lip in concentration. Nasuada too was enjoying herself, although she knew the severity of the topic they were discussing, she, like Jörmundur was absorbed in the challenge of finding a plan.

Arya, well. She would look from one person to the next as they fired their ideas at her, would think about it briefly and then dismiss it. A small smile played on her lips, a chuckle escaping through as Orik thought of yet another ridiculous plan. Her eyes were wide and alive, sparkling happily as she debated with the others.

She looked his way, and their eyes met. For a fraction of a second, he felt the heat course through him and his heart accelerate as he stared into her eyes; then, she blinked and looked back at Jörmundur as he presented a new theory to her. She seemed distracted now, pink coloured her cheeks and her green eyes seemed conflicted.

Not for the first time, he wished that he could dive into her mind as easily as he could another's, to see what she was thinking and to try and understand her better. His mind whirred as he studied her and her alone. He didn't see anyone else, didn't hear the ongoing conversation, so lost was he in his thoughts of Arya.

He started and almost fell out of his chair when he heard Nasuada's accusing shout of "You're late!" He looked across to where she was pointing an accusing finger and saw the witch Angela stroll across the length of the tent, Solembum padding lazily behind her. Her bare feet made almost no sound on the carpet, and she smiled lazily at Nasuada, showing off rows of sparkling white teeth.

"Sorry, you can't rush wisdom and were-cats. I had to finish something, and Solembum wanted breakfast. We hurried over as soon as we were done." She smiled again, and went to place herself in the middle of the group and immediately started up the debate again. This time, Eragon joined in, grinning inwardly as he noticed Nasuada's seething expression.

Solembum came to wind himself around his legs, his slanted amber eyes flickered as if reflecting flames as they gazed up at the individual faces, boring into them. The glowing amber orbs came to rest on Eragon's face, their gaze never once wavering.

_I suppose this 'meeting' hasn't been particularly fruitful _said Solembum, his tone dry and somehow mocking. He cocked his head at Eragon, obviously expecting an answer. Eragon, however, didn't much feel like telling him that the entire morning's discussions had resulted in near to nothing and didn't say anything, especially since he knew that the were-cat probably already knew the answer to his own question.

* * *

They watched the debate for a while, watched Angela volleying theories with an incredible speed. As they watched, Eragon grew more and more restless. He knew this wasn't going to end in anything useful, and Saphira, who had been providing him with an ear to listen as he ranted mentally about Arya, had fallen asleep in the mouth of the tent.

He looked longingly towards the door, letting another ridiculous idea fall out of his mouth. The conversation was slowing, everyone was getting bored, and it wasn't long before Nasuada called for them to depart. The group heaved a collective sigh at this, and all wore ill-disguised looks of relief.

Eragon turned, catching Saphira's now open eye happily, _flying?_ she asked. He nodded, _But not now, I have to talk to her, _he replied, glancing quickly in Ayra's direction. He was just about to call out to her to wait when he was interrupted by a loud yowl.

They all whirled around to look at Solembum, who had perched himself in the middle of the table they had just been gathered around and was now fixing them all with his bright, yellow gaze.

_I understand that you, being human, _Arya and Orik bristled, _aren't getting anywhere with your discussions. Angela thought I might know something, so I have decided to tell you that you might want to consider the _size_ of the problem. The wards Galbatorix has placed around those Eldunarí are very, very strong, yes, but they have weaknesses which he has overlooked. _

_I do not know what exactly these weaknesses are, for trust me, if I did, I would have already disclosed them to you. I wish to see this tyrant overthrown as much as the rest of you, so I am telling you all that I know. I know because of a feeling, a sixth sense, if you like, that all were-cats have. I wish you luck, for I cannot tell you anymore. Good day._

Solembum blinked and looked around at all of them, and then, with a flick of his tail, he was off the table and trotting towards the opening of the tent, Angela following closely behind him. Eragon slowly turned to face Nasuada, who was looking after the were-cat with a thoughtful expression.

"My lady, should we stay?" he asked, looking around at the others as he did so. They all bore similar, contemplative expressions, and were regarding Nasuada with slightly hazy eyes. She shook her head dismissively, "I will call for you when I need you again. In the mean time, please consider what Solembum has said. I think we all know that it was the most useful thing that came out of this entire meet."

* * *

He spent the rest of the day wandering around looking for Arya. She had flitted out of the tent immediately after Nasuada dismissed them, and by the time he was outside, she had disappeared. Somehow, he couldn't get rid of the feeling that she was avoiding him; for every time he caught sight of a long, female, legginged leg or a swish of midnight hair, and had called her name, it would disappear around a corner and wouldn't be seen again for a long time.

He gave up eventually, and decided to take a walk outside the walls of the camp. Saphira had gone hunting, and he was feeling restless, so as soon as he was a reasonable distance from the Varden, he broke into a ferocious sprint and charged around the walls, circling the perimeter of the camp in mere minutes.

He slowed to a halt as he came up behind the hill that he and Arya had been on the night before. The sun was nearly touching its curved top, its bright colour a stark contrast to the black hair of the elf standing there.

He moved towards her slowly, he booted feet barely making a noise on the soft grass. She wasn't crying like before, but was looking steadily out into the horizon, her face a neutral mask.

"Arya Svit-kona," he said quietly, touching his two fingers to his lips. He saw a blush creeping into her cheeks as he drew further in front of her.

"I've been trying to find you," he murmured softly, letting his eyes bore into hers. He reached out slowly and took both of her hands in his, his thumbs drawing slow circles over the backs of her palms.

"Arya…" he started and hesitated, what was it that he was going to say?

"Arya… I… I don't really know where we stand right now… After last night." He stopped, looking into her face as he tried to read her.

She had dropped her eyes and was staring fixedly at their interlocked hands. Pink stained her creamy cheeks, and when he stepped closer to her, he saw her long lashes flutter as her eyes flickered to his chest and back down again.

It wasn't until he reached out a hand to cup her cheek and tilt her face towards his that she moved.

"No Eragon!" She gasped, wrenching herself away from him.

"Last night was a _mistake_. I wasn't myself, I wasn't thinking." She stepped away from him, her eyes and face cold.

"I thank you for comforting me, but last night, we went way too far. _Do you not_ understand that we can _never, ever_ be like that? Last night meant _nothing. _You are _infatuated_," she threw the word at him like a curse, "and it will not last. Please, it will be better for us, safer for us, if you did not do this again."

She turned to leave, her words leaving a stinging hole in his chest. He ran after her, catching her by the arm and pulling her roughly round to look at him. She did, and her back was poker straight, her face cold and unfeeling.

"Why?" he asked. The word was barely a whisper, it sounded alien on his dry lips.

"It was _you_, Arya that kissed _me_. It was _you_ that asked me to stay. _You_ gave me hope that _this_" he gestured wildly between them, "had a chance after making perfectly sure that I knew it never did." He stared at her, his breaths coming in ragged gasps, the lump in his throat growing as did the ache in his gut.

Her face was still that cold mask, but her eyes had softened, and her hands twitched by her side.

"So why, _why _are you telling me that it meant nothing? Was it some sort of sick game to you? To lead me on to forget about Oromis? Did it mean _nothing_ to you when I held you? When I kissed you? When you woke beside me?"

He didn't attempt to hide the hurt, the pleading, the anger, confusion, betrayal. Every single emotion was flowing out in his voice, his hands, which were clenched into fists at his sides, trembled. A tear rolled down his cheek, and in the silence that followed, he could have sworn that he heard it splash onto the grass.

She didn't move. Not a single muscle twitched as she stared at him, at the way his shoulders slumped, or the way every breath was broken, heart-wrenching.

And then she spoke. And when her clear voice cut through the silence - cold and beautiful - the same wind that had danced around them the night before sprung up and whipped the words away as they left her lips; cutting them, sharpening them so that each one sunk even deeper into him.

"You do not understand, Eragon. It does not matter what I feel, it is not important. To love is to lose, and to love now, when you could lose _everything_ at the drop of a hat, is foolish. It is too dangerous for you to be _focused_ like, say, your cousin, when the fate of Alagaësia rides on your shoulders." She paused and looked at him, her emerald eyes like icy daggers stabbing into him.

"You are just a child, you would not understand, and you would not be able to cope."

He felt as if a bucket of icy water had been poured over him. Everything seemed to go numb, yet he was ridiculously aware of every pore and feeling and thought.

"I am _not_ a child, Arya." He lifted his chin to meet her gaze, His jaw was clenched, his hands tight fists at his sides.

"I am young, I know, I am inexperienced, but I am no child. After all that has happened you still think that? My body may be so, but inside, I feel as if I am an old man, burdened with troubles and worries that no 'child' would have."

The wind howled even stronger as he spoke, angrily whipping their hair and clothes about them. He stood and stared at her, hard, begging her with his eyes to say that she was sorry, that she didn't mean what she said, that it was some sort of duty-bound obligation to say what she did. She stayed silent and cold, staring back at him unblinkingly.

Finally, he shook his head and turned to walk back to camp. He walked slowly away from her, and after a few steps turned and looked straight into her stony eyes. "Arya, no child would care for you as much as I do."

* * *

The Sun watched sadly as the man walked slowly away from the woman. He didn't see her as she turned around so her back was to him, didn't see her when she wrapped her arms around herself or when the tears started to cascade silently down her cheeks.

He was gone too, his heart breaking from her cruel rejection. The Sun's dying rays touched them, trying to comfort them, but they did not feel her phantom caress. The man was flying with his dragon now, up, up, up and over the clouds. The woman stayed, watching them, and the Sun cried with her as they mourned the loss of their love.

* * *

**Well? PLEASE review, they honestly inspire me, however corny and cheesy that sounds lol. I need ideas as well, as to how they're gonna do whatever they do. As I've said, I am bloody awful at coming up with interesting plot lines. heehee :) B**


	3. Chapter 3

**heeyyy *sheepish grin***

**I know I've been absolutely awful and I haven't updated and I'm probably one of the most hypocritical people on Earth when I ask myself 'WHY THE HELL hasn't XYZ updated?' but although I have no real excuse about not updating like too much work or exams or whatever (I _do_ actually have exams now, but they're barely starting) I _have_ been having the most awful writer's block as always happens to me whenever I get more than a couple of chapters into writing any story. **

**I honestly want more than anything to be able to finish this, but I just run out of ideas and inspiration and then what I actually liked reading and writing becomes something that sounds forced and absolutely _terrible_, and I like what I've written so far I think, and I don't much want to ruin it by adding bad things to it. **

**Anyway, having said that, I am going to keep at this, and I _am_ going to try and finish it. Because I want to :)**

**So, I've introduced a few OCs in this chapter, one of which I might end up falling in love with just a bit... I've NEVER done this before (OCs) so PLEASE tell me what you think :)**

**and finally, THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR THOSE AMAZING, BEAUTIFUL REVIEWS. honestly, they are what made me write this. **

**xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx**

**BErin**

* * *

Two weeks had passed since their last confrontation on the hill. Two weeks, and Eragon had not spoken a word to her, or even seen her for that matter. She was avoiding him, and the thought killed him inside.

Over and over again he would replay those two days in his mind. The euphoria he had felt when he held her, when her hot breath mingled with his, when she fell asleep next to him, her soft body pressed against him, was greater than any he had ever known. That night, he had been so happy, the next he'd been unbearably sad.

He had left her, standing alone on the hilltop, and taken refuge in the clouds with Saphira. She had been quiet, compassionate; letting him cry and rant and yell without trying to interfere or tell him what she thought he should have done. That night, Saphira had kept him company, sleeping with her wing curled protectively around him as he sat awake against her warm belly, staring into the darkness.

He thought about a lot of things that night, but mostly he reflected on what she had said to him, "_You are just a child" _echoed in his head. He stung, he had what seemed to be a permanent ache in his chest, and every time he tried to seek her out to talk to her, she would run away and the stinging would intensify.

_What's she doing now?_ He had wondered as he traced one of the membranes in Saphira's wing; he imagined her sitting alone where he had left her, crying for him, begging him to come back. He imagined her curled up alone on her bed, sobbing softly, remembering what it was like to have his arms around her, and missing the feeling. But then, he shook himself, and told himself that this was all ridiculous. She wouldn't do that. She'd probably just gone off and done whatever it was she does.

He had taken to spending much of his time with Roran and the other men from Carvahall. His cousin managed to get him to stop moping, dragging him around with him, getting him to help carry armour and swords to and fro. Roran talked endlessly, and made Eragon talk to.

"Talking and Doing helps get your mind off things" he said, and to some extent, Eragon found it to be true.

He spent hours with Saphira among the Varden's cavernous library, slaving away to find out more about Eldunarí. She would lie with her head in the doorway of the tent, and they would think until their heads hurt about what Solembum had said. What were these weaknesses in the castle? For what seemed like lifetimes they thought, but never seemed to make any sense out of it.

They would go flying in the evenings – a welcome relief to get away from the hustle and bustle of the camp. They would glide for a while, enjoying each other's company and relaxing in the evening sun. Then Saphira would dive suddenly and they would begin practising their 'aerial acrobatics' as Angela called them, which would very often render them stiff and sore the next day.

She would fly very, very high very, very fast and then would drop suddenly, folding her wings to her sides and speeding towards the ground like a target missile. The air would rush by them, so strong that sometimes it almost tore Eragon off of her back. His eyes would sting and water and his lips would get pulled back over his teeth by the wind. Then, her wings would snap open with a loud CRACK at the very last moment, and they would soar up and away from the hard earth below.

After this, they would glide slowly, bending one way and the next so as to stretch out her muscles. Then, they would go through loops and rolls and more dives, and each time Eragon would find himself hanging upside down with his stomach in his mouth, and Saphira would be whistling in glee as they flew for hours and hours.

He threw himself off her back more times than he could count, and very soon they were able to execute the 'move' as they did on the Burning Plains without moving too low and without Eragon mashing his groin into a pulp on her back.

He belonged in the air, he realised, it was so tranquil and peaceful, and they didn't have to share it with anyone. It was just them, just the two of them, alone to say and do what they pleased, and they would fly for hours and hours just sharing their thoughts and worries without fear of being interrupted by anyone from the ground that swam so far below them.

* * *

In the mornings, Roran had made it a point to drag Eragon out of bed at an unholy hour and bring him to the training grounds to spar with him. They would fight furiously, Roran with his hammer and Eragon with Brisingr, rolling around on the floor and jumping away from what could have been fatal blows.

His brother would always be yelling at him to make his blows harder, to fight faster and to not treat him any less than he would a soldier of the Empire. But Eragon knew, and so did Roran, to some extent, that if he did fight as he would in battle, Roran would be on the floor, headless, in a matter of seconds.

However, their sessions were fast and ferocious, both of them moving at incredible speeds, shields clanging and cracking as they blocked blow after blow from either sword or hammer. They would finish once Eragon had 'killed' Roran, then Eragon would start stage two of the Rimgar, and very soon was taking Roran through each of the complex, flowing poses as a cool down exercise once they had sparred.

They fought with the other men there as well, and many of them came to him to ask for help. "Shadeslayer, I need help with my sword," to "Shadeslayer, my wife is suffering from terrible pains, please could you come and heal her?" were thrown at him on a regular basis, and although he could only help them in a way that they hadn't really wanted by talking them through things or just giving them advice, he built up relationships with the men of the Varden that he wouldn't have managed any other way.

He taught them all the Rimgar, for he thought it to be a fantastic way to stay fit and healthy, no matter where you were. He believed it helped calm the mind too, and he might have been imagining it, but after he had had them going through the exercise for a few weeks, he noticed that the men seemed more relaxed and less jumpy, and no one's nerves were as on edge as they had been before.

As he sparred with them, and as they gathered every morning for an hour to go through the exercises together, he noticed that the children and some of the women would come out and watch them as they did. The boys especially would always be drifting near the training grounds, staring wistfully at the men as Eragon taught them, the flashing swords, the scuffle of feet in the dust as the men side-stepped and parried. Many a time he would try to approach them, but they would always bow their heads and say "Sorry for disturbing, Mr. Shadeslayer" and scurry away, their small feet pitter-pattering on the dusty ground as they went.

* * *

As the weeks ran by, the Varden continued to live in relative peace; the Empire was quiet, and the routine that Eragon had set up for himself flowed on comfortably without any interruptions.

Weekly meetings were held at Nasuada's, and although they all spent what seemed like lifetimes trying to figure out just what in the name of all things living were the wards and spells cast to guard the Eldunarí, they never seemed to make any guess that sounded even plausible. They would sit for hours, shackled to a conversation that would constantly be going around in circles, all of them thinking till their heads ached. And then, when they all thought that they couldn't bear it any longer, they would be released, and he'd leave feeling helpless and hopeless, the throbbing in his head not subsiding till he managed to find something else to think about other than the Eldunarí.

However, however much he dreaded the feeling after the meetings, he couldn't help but look forward to them, for that would be the one time in the week he got to see Arya without the risk of her running away from him. His heart still ached when he saw her, her voice would still cut through him when she spoke, and yet it still was the loveliest sound he had ever heard. When her emerald eyes met his over the table, he would feel his jaw clench and his chest tighten when she looked away again; long, thick lashes lowered over the eyes that haunted his dreams.

She had started talking to him again, and their conversations were short, awkward, and every time he even brushed the topic of 'them', she would become cold and distant, and within seconds would have made an excuse and disappeared into the mass of tents and bodies that was the Varden.

Sometimes, during the meetings, when he found he couldn't possibly think anymore about Eldunarí or he'd explode, he would dwell silently on Arya. His eyes would follow her every movement, drinking in the way she would flick her hair out of her eyes, or the way she would smile as she talked and he would find himself lost in the tiniest features of her face, the beautiful little 'bits' that were just so _Arya_.

He was usually broken out of his musings by a question thrown this way, or her eyes meeting his, and he would snap out of it and unwillingly re-join in the discussions going on around him.

They would talk and talk and talk, and sometimes Angela would come in, and they would look up hopefully, thinking she knew something to do with Solembum that they didn't; but, it appeared that she was as baffled as they were.

Jeod would visit from time to time too, his eyes always down-cast, his face drawn and pinched. The long, long hours he spent pouring over maps and the risks he ran by sending numerous messengers and sometimes travelling to Urû'baen himself had proved fruitless.

"We just need some luck, milady," he had said to Nasuada before rolling up the scrolls he had presented to the group, "If we could just find some, or conjure some up, it would do us a bucket-load of good." He had looked dryly at Eragon then, his eyes twinkling dimly, as if asking whether or not it were possible. He smiled, "We can all dream can't we?" Eragon said, clasping the other man's hand. A slow smile creased the wrinkles in his weather worn face, "Aye, Shadeslayer, and I do a _lot_ of dreaming."

* * *

It had been after a meeting like this that Eragon had been walking around, aimlessly weaving through the tents when he came across a small group of young boys play fighting in the dust. They were each holding a long, straight stick, and were thrusting and parrying with the kind of clumsy intensity that comes from trying to copy something that you have been watching a for a long time.

He stayed in the shadow cast by the tent, not wanting to spoil their fun, for he was sure that they would scamper away once they laid eyes on him. There were two of them, so alike you couldn't tell one from the other, that weaved and bobbed in and out, laughing gaily as they did so. Their sticks flew, sharp thwacks and cracks sounded 'round their make shift 'arena' as these two boys danced around each other, jabbing and lunging with a precision that the others lacked.

His gaze drifted around to the others, none of them as fast or as experienced as the other two seemed, but they were all as occupied, all of them were completely transfixed on the other's 'sword'. As they fought, Eragon picked out Jarsha, the messenger boy, whacking away at a big, red head who was twice his size. There was a slender brunette who moved gracefully and was constantly flicking his floppy, too-long hair out of his eyes. He was fighting in a three with a big, blue-eyed sandy haired youth and another small, sharp young one who's spiky black hair stuck up in every direction.

He watched them for a while, and without realising it started to mentally correct their stances, the way they held the sticks. He saw them in his mind's eye, dancing around an imaginary enemy just like he did, the sticks in their hands becoming swords and the clatter around them the clash and clamour of battle. He had started to drift forwards, lost in his thoughts, and suddenly found himself looming over the red head's shoulder. The boy started and looked up, blue eyes wide in surprise, "Shadeslayer?" he said uncertainly.

Eragon looked around him self-consciously; they were all staring at him in a rather unnerving way.

"Um… You're holding it wrong," he mumbled, motioning awkwardly to the stick in the boy's hand. He cleared his throat and reached out to adjust his grip, his hands moving the small fingers down the handle, arranging them in the way that Brom had taught him, what seemed like lifetimes ago. He finished with the grip, and stepped back to admire his handiwork. The boys were still looking at him with an unbearable intensity, their mouths slightly agape as they watched him.

"There." He said, feeling the embarrassment flair up within him. He looked around him, plunging his hands into his pockets. "Bye," he muttered, and turned around to leave, scuffing the toe of his boot in the ground as he left.

He was aware, as he stalked away, of the fact that once his back was turned, all the boys huddled together, their excited whispering just reaching his ears. He slowed, curious, wondering what they were saying.

"You go!" came a furious whisper from behind, "No, YOU!" he heard a scuffling noise, and an "OOMPF!" it sounded as if one of them had been pushed.

"Ben, it was your bloody idea, GO!" more scuffling, and another muffled yell. There were grunts and a couple of dull thuds, and Eragon was considering going back to break up what had, he thought, become a fight, when another, younger voice said, "Hey! Calm _down!_ He's a bloody _elf_, he can _hear _you if he's still there." Eragon stiffened at the boy's tone, his brow furrowing as he hunched his shoulders and started to walk away.

He heard the thud-thud of feet behind him and whirled around as someone grabbed his arm. He turned to see the slender brunette one looking him determinedly in the eye.

"Shadeslayer." The boy said, bending low in a quick bow. His voice was the one who had said "He's a bloody elf" and Eragon tensed when he heard him.

"Yes?" he said. His voice sounded cold and sneering, and he winced internally as he watched the boy flinch.

"Um, we were wondering," he had looked up again to meet his eye, his hands clenched into small fists at his sides, "We were wondering if you could stay and teach us?" Eragon started, eyeing the boy up. He wasn't as small as he'd first appeared; his head came above Eragon's shoulder. The floppy dark hair fell into big, expressive dark eyes that drooped slightly at the corners. He had the lanky look of a boy going through a growth spurt, his arms and legs seemed too long to belong to his body.

Eragon hesitated, looking up to see the rest of the group peering around the edge of a tent, their faces sickeningly hopeful. He sighed. What would Nasuada say if she found out about him training younglings to fight? He glanced back at them again, wondering. The first boy looked at him, and seemed to realise that he was unsure, "Argetlam, please?" the boy's big eyes stared straight into his, beseeching him to listen.

He looked around him, running his fingers through his hair, flustered. All the hopeful faces weighed down on him, he met every one of their eyes, which was probably a mistake he realised, as each pair of liquid round orbs stabbed pathetically at his conscience.

He nodded resignedly, a smile growing across his face as they whooped in delight and moved forward to crowd around him.

"You're lucky I'm such a pushover." He laughed as they faltered, suddenly remembering that he was a Dragon Rider. They smiled though, and came forward, crowding around, fighting for his attention.

"Argetlam, can we start now?"

"Where's your dragon, Shadeslayer?"

"Can we see your sword?"

All of them were speaking at once, he couldn't think, and to his horror he found that he was beginning to panic.

"SHUT UP!" His voice cut over theirs, laughing yet exasperated, their faces painted in shock, their mouths all open in little, round 'Os'.

"I will teach you, but this is a commitment, I expect all of you at the training fields every day two hours before sundown. We will train with sticks first, and when I deem you good enough we might get hold of some swords." He paused, looking around at their eager faces.

"I'm not sure what my superiors will think of me training children," he chuckled inwardly as he saw most of them look furious at the word, "so don't go telling everyone you see about this alright?"

They nodded furiously, their big eyes shining with enthusiasm.

"Shadeslayer, can we start now?" asked the big blonde one. Eragon grinned, "Of course. But I need to know your names."

The boys smirked, the twins glanced sideways at each other, their eyes shining with glee.

"And no swapping or making things up, or you'll be out of this before it starts." He fixed each of them with a stern stare, trying to suppress the grin that was threatening to break out on his face again.

"Jarsha, I know you, so let's go from there."

* * *

There was Jarsha, or Jay as he was called by the others, and his cousin, Eadfridh. They were so different Eragon could scarcely believe that they were related – the former small, dark and brown haired, the latter huge and fair with a flaming head of thick red hair. They were both, he soon learnt, loud and clumsy and were as close as two people could be. They rather reminded Eragon of him and Roran, when they were back in Carvahall. The age difference was there too, with Jarsha at eleven and Eadfridh just having turned thirteen.

Bengar and Bertrhad were the twins, Bennie and Bertie or whatever abbreviations came from that. They were inseparable, and so alike it was impossible to tell the difference between the two. When asked which was which, they replied "I'm Bengar!" and "I'm Bertrhad!" so quickly and with such wide, sparkling smiles that Eragon immediately felt uneasy.

He sighed sceptically... he would have to manage. He cast another glance at the twosome and turned to the next boy, Mardelic. The big, sandy-blonde one; he was calm, laid back and the oldest of the group, being just a few months away from his fifteenth birthday. He was their 'leader', and seemed in charge of making sure they were all safe and where they should be.

The spiky black-haired small one was Cadeyrn, or Caddy, because he made it very clear that he hated his name. Athletic, agile, and very, very clever, he had an almost bi-polar way of going about things; one minute he was happy and care-free, the next he had blown his top and was in a massive fight with the others over the smallest thing. They never lasted though, and he was popular and well-liked, the others said his little 'outbursts' spiced life up a bit.

Then there was Anselm, the slender dark kid who had first spoken to Eragon. He was much quieter than his companions, although, in comparison, they were extremely rowdy. He had big, intense, soulful eyes that seemed to tell you everything about him and had an aura of calm seriousness, although he could be almost as bad as the twins sometimes.

He regarded Eragon silently through long dark lashes, and made him feel rather unnerved as he walked with them back to their space between the tents so that they could collect their sticks. He felt trapped by the boy's stare, and couldn't help the feeling of relief wash through him when he looked away.

"Right, I think we can stay here for today, it's certainly big enough." He said as he appraised his surroundings. The tents made a large, circular area that was sheltered from the winds that constantly tore through the training fields, "I think we might even come back here tomorrow – good job finding it." The boys looked pleased.

"Okay, now, line up, I want three of you in front and the other four at the back. Good. Now, hold your sticks like this," He drew Brisingr and held it in front of him with both hands on the hilt, bending into a small crouch as he did so.

They immediately started to copy him, bending their legs and clasping their sticks before them, their gazes fixed on him. _Alright so far_, he thought to himself. The twins were near perfect in their stances, the rest of them, especially Eadfridh could use some work though, he thought. He'd deal with that later.

"Now, I just want you to copy me, and when I stop, hold the pose." He brought the sword back and under one of his arms, still with both hands on the hilt. His feet moved, so that one was in front of the other, all his weight resting on his back leg.

He paused as they copied, and when he was satisfied, started to move again.

"It is important to keep your movements slow and controlled, I want no flurrying around yet. This will teach you to control the blade, and will allow you to properly use it when the time comes." He moved forwards in a lunge, his body leaning forwards, eager to continue the exercise which it knew so well. The sword stabbed at an imaginary foe, his weight shifted to the front, his muscles straining as he held the pose and watched the boys do the same.

He brought them through the rest of the exercise, always moving in slow, fluid motions, bringing Brisingr up to block or parry or swipe or behead the air in front of him. He did it with them again and again, telling them, "This has to be memorised, it has the basics of every single move you could possibly use in battle. This exercise might save your life someday."

He let them continue after that, admiring the fact that none of them were complaining that it wasn't 'exciting' enough, as he knew _he_ would have done. They went through each of the poses with such concentration it was rather amusing.

He walked up and down the line, correcting a grip here, guiding them so that they moved in the right way. Eadfridh needed to have almost every single pose spelt out for him, the stick in his hand always held awkwardly, his face one of comical exasperation as he tried again and again and never seemed to get it right.

The twins, surprisingly, had their balance completely off centre, Jarsha seemed dwarfed by his stick, Caddy's tongue was sticking out in concentration as he tried to fence with his non-dominant hand – Eragon had him change – he hadn't expected a left hander. Mardelic and Anselm ploughed through the exercises, their faces screwed up in concentration, occasionally fumbling and stumbling as they lost their balance half way through a pose.

They absorbed every drop of information and instruction he gave them like parched sponges, their eyes following him attentively as he moved among them, fixing the things that they did wrong, occasionally re-demonstrating a manoeuvre as the boys watched, silent adoration in all their eyes.

"Okay," he said after they'd gone through the exercise multiple times, "Stop." They did, dropping their sticks with a clatter to the ground and when he motioned for them to sit, they collapsed onto the dirt, panting. He could see they were tired, he had made repeat again and again, and made them hold some of the more difficult poses for minutes as he walked around and corrected them, and they'd been at it for the good part of an hour, with no rests in between.

The only one who didn't seem exhausted was Anselm, sitting straight up, big round eyes fixed eagerly on Eragon, the stick laid across his lap, with one of his hands on its 'hilt'. They were all dusty and tired, but they looked happy, he thought, they looked as if they were incredibly pleased with themselves and gazed admiringly up at him as he started to talk again.

"I expect all of you to have memorised that, it will be your mantra, you will repeat it every day at least once before we start."

Eadfridh groaned. Eragon smiled at him and winked, chuckling at the expression of horror on the boy's face. The others were nodding at him, glancing around to see what the others' reactions were.

"Shadeslayer, will we come here again tomorrow?"

"Yes," he nodded, "Same time." He smiled down at them, "You're doing very, very well. All of you,"

"Well, off to your mothers; I'm sure they're wondering where you've gotten to." He slapped his hands on his thighs, swaying back and forth as he felt the awkwardness from before come over him again.

"Go on, I'm sure you're all starving."

The boys got off the floor, dusting themselves off and immediately erupting in noisy chatter. They rushed by him, brandishing their sticks and laughing at the thought of the hot food that was waiting for them.

"THANK YOU SHADESLAYER!" they yelled as they disappeared among the tents and left him standing smiling to himself as he watched them leave.

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**SOoo, _please_ review, I love them so much and they make me smile... And thanks to elvenlord who's review gave me a kick up the arse to get this done ;)**


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